


Yours

by irishluff



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-22 11:27:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishluff/pseuds/irishluff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She knows she should feel bad, but there's nothing that gets her wetter than listening as he talks about their plan to destroy the world...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yours

"Tell me the plan again, Harry," murmured Lucy.

Of course, he didn't need to tell her. She knew it by heart. But she loved the sound of his voice, especially when he spoke quickly, excited and wanting to tell her every detail at once, the feel of breath against her skin when he leaned into her neck and only paused his words to kiss her; the way his fingers dug into her muscle while he described in precise detail the feeling you get when you know everyone is dying and everyone who isn't bows to you in the desperate hope they won't be next. It seems she's turned into something of a sadist since marrying him. There's a tiny, rational part left somewhere inside her that's horrified at how she begs to hear the plan again and again, but she shuts it up quickly. There's no room for her moral compass when his knee is nudging her thighs apart and his thumbs are on her breasts and she's gasping, pleading at him to just keep talking, tell her about how the sky will split and all the graves they're going to dance over and all the power that belongs to no one but them. 

He knows he doesn't need to tell it again, not really. After all the times he's already gone over it, Lucy could recite it left, right, and center. Still, there's something very satisfying about the look on her face, eyes half lidded and swimming with his image, knowing he could make her moan without a single touch (though those certainly don't), get her off from the sound of his voice as he murmurs tales of fire and death into her ear. Sweet Lucy, gorgeous Lucy, his gorgeous porcelain doll with her mind shattered into little bits and remade in his image. In this moment he loves everything about her, even the human bits. After all, he'd probably have to ask a Time Lady what she thought of the plan. Not Lucy, though. Not when she spreads herself out and bares everything she is for him and he can feel her opinion through the fabric of her panties.

"They're all gonna die, Lucy," he whispers, voice low enough to send shivers down her back. 

"And we're going to make it happen, aren't we Harry?" she returned in a breathy gasp. 

"Yes we are, sweetheart, a hundred million people, and that's just the start..." He doesn't need to bring his hand between her legs to make her gasp and squirm, not when he's talking like that, but he does anyway. 

"You and me at the end of the world," she says dreamily, pulling him into her and kissing him with a fever she'd never show in public, not when she's the prime minister's wife with her hair all done up in a lovely bun. It's not up now, though, it's falling around her, a blonde halo on the rumpled sheets, he knows because his hands are tangled in it, tugging. Every time he pulls she makes a sound, the string on the back of a ragdoll.

"Tell me more," she begged. 

"You shouldn't be getting off on this," he scolds. "It's hardly proper."

She just moans, because she knows he's right. It's sick, it's wrong, it's twisted, but god is it hot. 

He smirks, knowing it's entirely his influence. He's molded her perfectly and now she is his, completely and entirely, and if you asked she'd agree. She'll gasp it when he finally ends the teasing and takes her a hundred times over, like a mantra. 

"Yours, yours, yours..."


End file.
